[[sorry I go on so long, I need to write it all out lest I forget this whole trip]]
Spain was Madrid, Ourense, Ferrol, Vigo. Each with their own beauty. New foods, every night a fascinating new conversation, amazingly friendly people. We stayed up too late, sleeping in as late as possible. Breakfast often involved churros with chocolate. The pace was such that there wasn’t much time for updates; or maybe it was just my exhaustion.
Flying from Vigo to Berlin, via Madrid, took a little life out of me. For as much as I love the people of Spain, they have a tendency to line up for flights that makes me batty. Twenty minutes before boarding they stand ready + waiting, like an airborne cattle call. There’s no boarding from the back. There’s seemingly no rationale for this behavior, but I’m left with the choice to queue up with them or be “that guy” who strolls on at the end, past the full rows from 1 to 25, my bag swinging perilously close to testy occupants of aisle seats. Our flight from Vigo was unremarkable, and I even abstained from my usual Dramamine in favor of being slightly awake for our transfer in Madrid.
We landed + went to claim our bags, having to transfer them manually to the next terminal/airline. Our luggage took almost an hour, during which Damien calmly tolerated my huffing and anxiety. Then we caught a crowded bus to far off Terminal 4. Madrid Barajas seems unthinkably large as you try to navigate it. We re-checked the bags, got new boarding tickets, found the special place to drop off the guitar, took forever in security, then took another tram to the M gates.
The interior of the airport looks like a scene from Blade Runner, and despite a million shops + even booths to smoke in, it has never offered much comfort as we fly through. Damien lost his iPhone there earlier this year in a rush at security. Two hours into our travels I realized they’d switched the gates in the time it took to take the tram, meaning we had to turn back around twenty minutes in the other direction, plus another security point. At this point I lost it. I may or may not have yelled, standing in front of the giant reader board, “I hate this fucking place! Do you hear me airport gods? HATE IT!”
After that I got a snack. Things improved almost immediately.
Our Iberia flight to Berlin included a faulty screeching speaker + radio feedback, along with seatbelt/no smoking signs coming on and off at random. It was with great relief that we stepped out onto German soil.
That’s a lot of words to dedicate to a day of travel, but it speaks volumes as to the energy required at this point in tour. We spent the night in Berlin with my dearest Nadin, and woke up to have breakfast with her + Do Make Say Think’s tour manager Adam. My time with Nadin is always too brief. I wanted to stay curled up in her office for weeks, reading books, sharing smokes, catching up on the months since we last saw each other in Seattle. There’s the comfort of knowing another reunion is never too far off with how much we both travel.
I should basically avoid recounting all train travel, lest I sound even more foolish. We’ll just say that in the end we successfully made every train from Berlin to Hamburg and Hamburg to Copenhagen.
I didn’t know what to expect of Hamburg. It was a pleasant surprise that Astra Stube was packed to the brim with totally brilliant people. Damien played for over an hour and a half, we sold through our stash of cd’s, and I drank a lifetime supply of Fritz cola. After the show we were giddy like schoolkids as we walked to the band apartment. We bought every single piece of candy we desired, plus tiramisu ice cream. In the end we got less than 4 hours of sleep before setting out for Copenhagen.
Once we had our rental car there, we felt such relief. Just us and our sat nav to worry about on the road - no airport security, no train schedules, no faulty electrical matters 30,000 feet in the air. We set off to Malmo in high spirits. In less than 20 minutes we came to a complete halt in traffic. I worried a little about the time, trying to call the promoter + let her know we were en route. As I sent emails to Bas I was relieved that our half hour wait was coming to an end - traffic was moving! Hopes were short lived as we realized it was only moving to be redirected in the opposite direction, back into Denmark.
Longest of long stories short, I bought Damien a train ticket to go directly to the show in Malmo while I stayed with the car to drive across once the bridge reopened. There was crying involved, and intense disorientation. No matter what adventures we’ve had on tour, we’ve always traveled together. The prospect of being apart, even by 20 miles, even for 2 hours, was scary. I suddenly found myself alone in a country I knew nothing about - not language, not currency, not a soul other than dear Mikael via email helping me figure out a plan of action. I emailed with family + friends, made a few s.o.s. calls, and before I knew it I was on my way to Malmo.
Driving across the Oresund bridge, alone, at night, in a wind storm, listening to John Vanderslice, was a cinematic liberating larger than life moment. I felt joyful and accomplished, well traveled and powerful. Going through customs at the other end took a little wind out of my sails [“Why do you speak English?” he asked in a tone that sounded more like “Are you completely inept?”] but walking into Debaser and waving to Damien I felt like we’d just conquered the world.
Famous Scandinavian hospitality held up as they cooked another dinner for us, having missed what they prepared hours before. We ate veggie burgers and reveled in the sweet people we’d met. J Tillman had just played there, and left in his wake the quote: “The best thing about Seattle is Damien Jurado.” A few hours of sleep and a long drive to Stockholm.
I woke up in the car, in the dark, thinking we must be hours late. Turns out that 4:30 just looks like midnight. Debaser Medis was a dream. I enjoyed my time with the promoters + with Mikael, who can be credited for first bringing Damien to this side of the world. Our little room at the Scandic hotel across the street was like a slice of heaven. I took a shower + ate a mashed potato cone, feeling settled and happy. It may have only left us with 3 hours of sleep as I recall.
Climbing north to Oslo, I missed much of the drive. When I did finally wake up, it felt like another world. So much grey, yet so beautiful. Still no snow to be found. Signs of exhaustion and homesickness were sneaking in. I cried in a mini mart when I couldn’t figure out the coffee machine. I had enough self awareness to laugh at my tears, but they came nonetheless. We explored as much as we could before the show, and walked straight back to the hotel after. For once, a good night’s sleep - almost 6 hours. As such, I was awake for most of the drive. The rain stayed away today, allowing for a few hours of sun. Usually light is described as “golden” but here it has much more in common with silver. The trees are black, red, white; almost never green. The rocks rise up so inhospitably from the ground that one wonders how anyone first settled this land. It is unquestionably beautiful, and I feel like something important and wonderful might happen at any moment against this landscape.
Tonight we are in Gothenburg, at Woody West. There’s a cornucopia of food spread out before me, and posters of my favorite bands at my back [Bon Iver, Okkervil River, My Morning Jacket]. We stopped at a fortress that caught our eye on the way here off the E6; I couldn’t help but think how much Miles would’ve loved it. I can feel it in my bones that home is just a few days away. I’m afraid it might feel more foreign than these travels do by the time I get there.
